


Late Night TV

by Blueberryshortcake



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: 2AM Twinkies, Averted Dinosaur BBQ, Gen, Grimmons URT, M/M, Reds that Talk, Retirement Moon, Temple of Procreation Fall Out, Unresolved Romantic Tension, an unlikely friendship, canon typical langauge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberryshortcake/pseuds/Blueberryshortcake
Summary: “God, you really are Blue Team. You never wanna talk about things.”“And you have to be Red Team because all you do is talk,” Washington shot back.“You know, that’s where all the Drama comes from, you all bottle it up and then it’s all suddenly Boo, I’m a Ghost. Ooo I’m an ex-Freelancer. I have a magic sword.”“Simmons is a vegan.”“Turn the show back on.”





	Late Night TV

If Carolina stole his Twinkies one more time he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions.

It was 2AM. The absolute perfect Twinkie consumption time. Grif was comfortable in his bed reaching up for his roll of golden delight he kept on the shelf above his bed...

And found nothing.

“God _damn_ it!” He hissed. “Carolina.” He should never have gotten her hooked. He shoved his blankets off and angrily searched for his slippers with his feet.

“I don’t take that many,” He mimicked. “Bullshit. That was a pack of ten.”

He wasn’t gonna stand for it. It was late night twinkie time and he was having his goddamn twinkie!

He grabbed his orange hoodie and threw it over his pjs before stomping down the stairs of redbase.

Shotgun fire banged, scaring him out of his skin. The door he had just passed was now riddled with bullet holes.

“DAMN IT SARGE.”

“‘M TRY’N TO GET M’ BEAUTY SLEEP DAMMIT!”

“DO YOU SHARE A BED WITH THAT THING!?” Grif shrieked back. He sprinted down the stairs when he heard the gun cock again.

He let the cool night air hit him and leaned against the door, gulping air. One of his slippers was gone, but he wasn’t about to go back now. It was grass between Red and Blue base anyway. He kicked his other slipper off in disgust and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Following the glowing fairy lights Caboose had strung up between the two buildings he headed over to Blue Base.

_“Blue Base, a hive of dumb and idiocy, we must be cautious,”_ Simmons had joked.

Fuck. He scrubbed his hands over his face trying to rid himself of the thought.

Don’t think about Simmons. You just want a goddamn twinkie--or ten.

He lifted his finger about to ring the doorbell (and why the fuck did they install door bells?), but thought better of it. Everyone would be asleep. Caboose was out by 11PM, Tucker needed ‘private time’ after 1AM, Carolina’s ‘homework’ was to sleep in and she was still pretty serious about the whole relaxation thing.

He shook his head quietly opening the door. Once she realized she didn’t have to give a fuck it would set her free.

Blue base was set up exactly like Red Base. The kitchen and living room areas were downstairs and the bedrooms were upstairs. He would be in and out before anyone even knew he was--

“HOLY SHIT!” He yelped feeling cold metal at his throat.

“Damn it, Grif,” Washington’s voice was in full bitch mode. He removed the knife and pushed him away.

“Damn it Grif??” Grif squeaked incredulously. “You’re the one that had a fucking KNIFE to my throat.”

“You didn’t ring the doorbell,” Washington said flatly. He moved away tucking the knife into its sheath that was strapped to his calf. The dude was in pajamas. How paranoid was this guy?!

“You sleep with that thing?” Was Grif the only one that didn’t sleep with a deadly weapon?!

Washington looked at him, deadpan, before moving to the couch. The big screen TV (Chorus went all out setting up these places) was paused on--

“Oh shit!  Simpsons? I haven’t seen that in ages. He wandered over. Homer was in the middle of devouring a donut. Same man… same.

His stomach rumbled reminding him of his mission.

“I’m just here to get the twinkies Carolina stole from me.” He side-eyed Washington who had collapsed on the couch.

“Mm,” Wash grunted. “I don't care. Just knock or ring the bell next time and we won’t have a problem.”

“We are on a secret moon. The only people that know we’re here are Kimball and our lieutenants,who, would never betray us because they owe us their entire planet. Who the hell do you expect is gonna show up in the middle of the night that you need to stab?”

“I don’t know,” Washington  said, clearly annoyed but trying to keep his voice even. “Did you expect any of the things that happened to you in the last five years to happen?”

Where were his twinkies? He moved to the kitchen without answering. Washington’s words dug in harder than he’d like to admit. But, Agent Paranoia was just being his usual self. No one was gonna come. They were all going to have a well deserved retirement. All he had to worry about was getting his daily naps in, convincing Tucker that the Talking Reds was the perfect name for the band they had been thinking about starting, and finding his twinkies. Nothing was going to happen. No one was going to show up.

“Ahah,” top of the fridge. Typical tall person logic. As if he can’t tippy toe it. Simmons tries that all the--

He walked back into the living room clutching his prize. The TV pulled back his attention again.

“Heh, I love this episode,” He said. “Classic.” He grinned to himself and glanced back at Washington who nodded.

Grif unwrapped a twinkie and crammed it in his mouth  staring at the TV. Nostalgia hit. Him and Sis sitting in front in front of the tiny little 2D TV waiting for Mom to come back from her late night work.

“Down in front?” Washington verbally nudged after Grif continued to stand in front of the screen, blocking his view.

“You’re actually watching?” Grif asked.

“It wouldn’t be on if I wasn’t,” Wash retorted.

Grif shifted his weight, but then moved to the couch. “Move over. I wanna watch this episode.”

“Fine,” Wash scooted to make room and stretched his long legs out onto the blue coffee table.  

Grif opened another twinkie.

He snickered. Fuck he forgot how much he loved this show. It didn’t matter how many times Bart and Homer screwed up, by the next episode everything was fine again.

Everyone had forgotten their screw ups--

“So why don’t you use the 3D feature?” Grif asked. He should go. He had his twinkies. Washington went to the next episode.

“Watched it flat as a kid,” Washington answered leaning back on the couch. “Didn’t have 3D function. It was a small, old TV and could only play ancient blu rays and nostalgiaflix because--”

“All the new stuff came out fuzzy on 2D. Yeah…” Grif finished. “Same.”

Whenever he was forced to go to school… which wasn’t often with the circus moving all the time, all the kids would be talking about all the newest things on TV that Grif had never heard of. Sometimes he would try to see them, but it was all blurry and messed up and not fun to watch. The other kids never knew what he was talking about when he told them about Fresh Prince, or M*A*S*H or Power Rangers, or Battlestar Galactica.

He watched 3D later. Especially when he heard some of his favourite shows had been revamped (not … all of them successfully).

When Lopez made the holodeck Simmons made him watch Star Wars the Special Special Edition five times--

He snapped himself out of his thoughts and realized the episode was already halfway through and another twinkie was gone.

“You’re staying then?” Washington asked.

“Fuck it,” Grif shrugged. “Whenever I try to watch late night TV Sarge tries to court martial me or Donut somehow gets the remote and I have to watch Project Anti-Gravity Runway. Did you know Lopez has a built in remote? Every fucking time he changes it to a Spanish telenovela. Every goddamn time. Don’t get me started on--” He cut himself off and changed tact. “It’s not like I have anything to do tomorrow.” He made himself comfortable on the other side of the couch. “You guys have any beer or anything?”

“Tucker hides his stash so Caboose doesn’t accidently get into it. Lots of Chocolate milk though.” Washington didn’t seem overly bothered by his presence now that everything was settled.

“Sweet,” Grif headed back to the kitchen. “Doesn’t the sound keep people up?”

The volume wasn’t super loud, but Red Base you’d be able to hear it upstairs.

“Caboose is a heavy sleeper and Tucker has a white noise machine. Carolina sleeps better when there’s people moving around, She’s used to sharing space.”

“And you don’t sleep at all,” Grif finished. He took a swig of chocolate milk straight from the carton. He covertly glanced at Washington, who didn’t seem to react to that at all. Donut would be having the vapours right now.

“I sleep fine,” Wash said.

Grif sat back down on the couch.

“So you were shit poor as a kid, huh?” He asked casually. He didn’t know why he was asking other than it was late and the idea of Agent Washington as anything other than a fully grown bitchy adult was an intriguing idea.

“Yeah,” Washington answered. “Do you always talk over the TV.”

“You’ve seen it a hundred times.”

“How do you know?”

“If you’re like me you have.” Grif shrugged.

“Yeah,” Washington sighed. He glanced at Grif. “Why would Sarge install a TV remote in Lope--you know what? Never mind, I probably don’t want to know.”

“Yeah,”Grif agreed, “You probably don’t.”

Conversation pittered out. They moved their attention back to the screen.

_“Heh, yeah right, Lisa. A wonderful maaaagical animal.”_

“Vegans are so fake,” Grif muttered.

Washington glanced over. “Hm?”

“They’re all they’re not gonna eat meat, but then they have all this fake meat shit. Like, pick a side.”

“I think she’s just vegetarian.”

“What?”

“Lisa.”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t… she’s fine. She’s doing her thing.”

Washington looked over at him. Thought about it for a moment. “Ah.”

“What?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Grif tried to focus back on the show, but what the fuck was that supposed to mean.

“Fuck, you are cryptic.”

Washington rolled his eyes, and paused the show. He didn’t turn his head to face Grif though. He kept staring at the freeze frame of Bart.

“You don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Uh, what? Who said I didn’t want to talk about whatever it is that you think I don’t wanna talk about?”

“You wanna talk, really? With me?”

“God, you really are Blue Team. You fuckers never wanna talk about shit.”

“And you have to be Red Team because all you do is talk,” Washington shot back.

“You know, that’s where all the fucking Drama comes from, you all bottle it up and then it’s all suddenly Boo, I’m a Ghost. Ooo I’m an ex-Freelancer. I have a magic sword.”

“Simmons is a vegan.”

“Turn the show back on.”

“Yeah,” Washington pressed play. “That’s what I thought.”

Grif left around five. The box of Twinkies was empty.

-

“Thank you.” Washington was in pjs again, knife still strapped to his leg.

Grif had rung the doorbell this time.

It was two in the morning. He shoved a six pack at Washington.

“I brought beer.”

“I see that.” He moved out of the way so that Grif could enter. It was messy today. There was lego everywhere. Grif was glad he hadn’t lost his slippers this time.

“Caboose?” He asked.

“And me.” Washington unpaused the TV. It was The Office tonight. A bit dated, but it had its charms.

“But you get to clean it all up, right?”

“Oh no,” Washington went into the kitchen and came out with pretzels. Score.

“Really?” Grif lifted an eyebrow. Washington let himself collapse back onto the couch. Mr. Uptight wasn’t a neatfreak?  

“Tucker cleans it up.”

He snorted, “How is that supposed to work?”

Grif tiptoed around the lego.

“I could say it’s practice for the children he’s going to have if he never learns safe sex, or it’s because he’s the one that promised Caboose to build a  lego base with him and bailed at the last moment, but really it’s because he runs around naked in the morning and he’s going to be the one that steps on it.” Washington smirked. It was a nice vicious smirk of a man that had just got one up on a crappy roommate.

Damn, that was brilliant.

“And Carolina doesn’t mind?” Grif asked. Getting to know Carolina these last few months made him think there was no way she’d tolerate it.

“Carolina puts her boots on upstairs."

“I meant about Tucker running around naked.”

“Oh. Yeah. At first, but… she’s been in the army long enough to see a few dicks. You get used to it.”

“But not used enough to it not to sabotage the living room with lego on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you mean Captain Grif.” Wash said innocently. He cracked open one of the beers and put the rest in the middle of the coffee table. Grif joined him and opened one as well taking a swig. He had been wondering if Wash would drink booze. He never had any at Joint Team Barbecues, but then, those usually involved fire and it was probably for the best that someone remained sober.

“I never liked this show when I was a kid,” Grif took a handful of pretzels.

“It’s not really kid friendly. And it’s boring until you start learning more about the other people in the office other than Michael, Dwight, Pam, and, Jim.”

“You really do binge TV.” Grif side-eyed him. It really was weird. To think abs of steel agent paranoia in any way had interests similar to his own.  

“TV raised me.” Washington replied unthinkingly.

Grif thought of him and Sis, waiting at home, learning values from Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers. Learning super outdated science from Bill Nye the Science Guy and Magic School Bus. It was always a distraction until it wasn’t. Until it was what they did--what he did. Kai was always good at making friends. Why make friends when you could watch Friends though?

“Alone a lot?” Before this he had never had many conversations with Washington that didn’t involve trying to get out of training, their immediate survival, or some shit Sarge did, but two nights of TV and it was all suddenly personal, and he realized it was his fault. It was a conversation and conversations flowed and Grif just--acted on instinct. Did he really wanna know about Washington’s childhood though--

“No,” Washington answered. “There were always people at home.”

And there it was. See they weren’t so similar at all. Conversation ended. Maybe he was just going through withdrawal since Simmons--

-

But the way he had said it…

He tried to focus, but the Office had never been a favourite of his. He stuffed more pretzels in his mouth, drank more beer. 

Fuck he did like talking. At least they weren’t standing. Standing sucked.

Just drink your beer and binge TV.

“Lots of siblings?” Fuck.

“Three sisters.”

Grif laughed. “Oh boy. That must have been fun--I mean--I love Sis, but--I barely survived one of her much less three. You get stuck babysitting?”

He expected Washington to take offense and claim his sisters were nothing like his in a bitchy freelancer Washington tone, but he didn’t.

“I was the youngest,” Washington didn’t seem to be focusing on the show anymore, but he avoided looking at Grif. He took a sip of beer. “We weren’t… we didn’t get along.”

“Fuck, I hear you--”

“No,” Washington said. He thumbed the tab of the can. “We didn’t like each other...not in the end anyway.”

“Oh…” there were times Sis got on his nerves, but there was never any point in his life that he didn’t love her fiercely. His first instinct was to be annoyed at Washington for blowing off a commonality between them, but instead he felt sympathetic. Washington seemed like a guy who needed people.

“Well… that sucks.”

“Yeah…let’s watch something else. You can pick.”   
  
“Really?”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

He never gets to pick at home--at Red Base. His brain zoomed between old favourites, and wavered between something Wash might know and what Wash might not know but like.

“Cheers?” Wash asked. “Because we’re drinking?”

“Norm was my hero. Besides, I like the will they won’t they,” Grif said. Grif pushed play. The familiar theme music started. Where everybody knows your name… well living with a limited number of people on a moon he could relate to that. Or...he could relate to the name thing… maybe not the feelings of fondness. All of them were exhausting. Grif knew that he was exhausting. He could barely stand himself sometimes.

Fuck, he had no idea what Caboose’s first name was, or Washington and Carolina’s real names for that matter and then there was fucking Sarge… maybe this wasn’t an everybody knows your name situation after all--

“Sam and Diane, right? The will they won’t they?” Wash leaned back. Took a sip of beer.

Grif had distracted himself, backtracked through the conversation.

“Oh, yeah.”

 Washington glanced over. “They don’t get together though do they?”

 “Hm?”

 “It’s all this tension, they almost get married, but everytime it doesn’t happen, even though everyone roots for it. Something always gets in the way.”

“Oh yeah, I guess.” Grif shrugged. It felt like Washington was trying to go somewhere with this.

“Real opposites, but you can’t not help thinking of one without the other.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the show. You gonna keep talking?” 

A pained awkward smile appeared on Washington’s face that was quickly covered by his beer.

“You’re right, I’ll leave the small talk to you.”

-

It wasn’t like TV with Wash was a secret. And it wasn’t an every night thing… just an almost every night thing. He just didn’t tell anyone about it because… fuck it, who would care anyway? He avoided talking to Washington in the light of day because it felt like it would break some sort of rule, and they were half way through Stargate: SG9. He had never seen how it ends.

And then Donut burnt down the fucking bases.

Which was great timing with the giant dinosaurs they had just run into. Sure they were Caboose’s friend, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get eaten!

So for awhile late night TV wasn’t a thing. They camped out (in their teams, as fucking usual). Their food was being rationed (Fuck everything). Methrooms got old real quick (he hadn’t slept in three fucking days). And Simmons had started learning Esperanto thinking it was Spanish for Spanish.

He ALMOST told him.

Almost.

Selling their movie rights had been a stroke of genius (you’re welcome).

The Waterpark had been unexpected, but that was fine. Floating around all day? Awesome.

So at least for awhile things were alright again. Things were normal.

-

The daycare area Tucker had insisted on was set up with a nice big screen TV.

And there was Wash on a huge yellow bean bag. Holding two beers.  
  
“You expected me?” Grif asked.  
  
“I figured you might show up here.” Wash tossed him the beer.   
  
“I thought we were out.”   
  
“Carolina is terrible at hiding things.”

“Heh. What are we watching?”   
  
“The TV is locked to kids shows so Ducktales or Sesame street.”   
  
Grif grimmanced, “I know my ABCs.”   
  
“You are sort of a big bird gold--”

“I’m fucking orange, dude.”

“Ducktales it is then.”

-

So he was back to the usual, filling his time doing absolutely nothing, or screwing around with Tucker and Caboose trying to figure out the band (How could Tucker think Blue Day was better than Red Floyd?). Sometimes he would hang with Carolina and try to teach her how to not to give a shit. The space pot that Bitters had mailed them had turned out to be a caprese salad, but Carolina thinking she was getting high sniffing spinach had been worth the rip off.

And sometimes he would talk to his team.

“Don’t you think it’s sorta boring now?” Simmons leaned his cheek against his robot arm while he poured the last of his almond milk into his cereal. He looked at Grif, obviously directing the question to him. Red team had claimed the inside restaurant seating area. Blue Team had somehow ended up in the tunnel of the Splashinator? Probably Caboose’s idea.

“Oh I KNOW!” Donut sighed dramatically. “I desperately wanna smash some holes and nail something hard.”

“Donut!” Simmons whined.

“Is it too early to redo restaurant you think?” Donut mused.

“You’re only bored because you’re not constantly vigilant!” Sarge interrupted Donut’s train of thought. “We face the greatest foe of our generation, and you’re bored? Simmons, I’m disappointed in you.”

“Uh, no sir, er, yes sir. What enemy is that exactly?”  
  
“Please don’t encourage him,” Grif muttered under his breath.

“Don’t you see?! That’s why it’s so devious!” Sarge banged his hand on the table. “I have no idea. But it’s out there Simmons, mark my words.”

“Oh Sarge!” Donut said reassuringly, “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. You’re starting to sound like Wash!”

Simmons snickered.

Ugh. It was too early for this, as much as he loved bitching about Blue Team. He had only slept three hours, but Donut’s singing in the spa woke him up. He pushed his plate away having thoroughly cleaned it off.

Besides, Washington was paranoid, but he wasn’t delusional like Sarge.

“You could put it in the dishwasher.” Annoyance clear in Simmons’ tone. Grif ignored it. “I’ll do it later,” He lied.

“No you won’t,” Simmons grumbled. “Hey! Where are you going?”

“Uh? Out?” Grif slipped on his sandals. “Not like we got wall duty anymore.”

“Yes you do,” Sarge growled. Grif stepped out and shut the door before he had to listen to another tirade on the evil shadowy unknown enemy of Sarge not being able to fucking cope with real life.  

There was a shady spot he could while away the day with his name on it.

-

He dozed off and came to because of high pitched shrieking. Was it strange his reaction was annoyance rather than fight or flight? Chorus had… Chorus had changed him, brought back bad memories of before Blood Gulch, made some new bad memories. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have the occasional shitty dream. He had woke up a few times clutching for a gun that wasn’t there.

But maybe he was just used to that tone of shriek.

“TUCKER!!!”

“I got you! You can’t deny that I got you!”

Grif yawned. The Blues minus Carolina were in the little garden Donut and Caboose had worked on that was behind the wreckage of their old bases. Tucker had his arms around Washington’s neck trying to trap him while Caboose yelled warnings about stepping on his plants--while stepping his plants.

Grif watched in amusement as Tucker was wrestled into a headlock by Wash and Caboose jumped on both of them.

They all ended up in the dirt laughing.

And Washington was smiling a real smile. Like he was actually happy or something with those two idiots.  

-

“Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever wonder why we’re here?” The end of Saving Grace had put Grif in a weird mood.

“No.”

“Fuck dude how are you for real?”

“What?”

Grif crossed his arms. Washington was already scrolling for a new show for them to watch. “You never wonder at all? Like… physically or metaphysically? You never get kept up at night because you don’t know how the hell it’s supposed to work out? Why you exist? What made you exist?”

Wash chuckled. It didn’t have any sarcasm. It was almost… fond.

“I’m serious, cockbite.”

“I know why I’m here,” Washington said firmly.

“An answer to life the universe and everything? I’m all ears.”

Washington selected Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy III: Marvin’s Revenge.

“Classy,” Grif rolled his eyes. “If you say Forty-Two I’m punching you.”

“You could _try_ to do that Captain Grif, but I wouldn’t recommend hostilities in enemy territory.”

“Ugh you sound like Sarge,” Grif said in disgust. “Red vs Blue doesn’t matter anymore, remember? Didn’t you say that? Didn’t it always not matter?”

“And yet, we still go by teams, live in separate ‘bases,’ and try to claim the newest person for our side in this never ending conflict.”

“You only got Carolina because she has a Freelancer thing with you. I’m pretty sure by next year she’s going to be Red Team. No one sleeps naked on our team.”

“Oh, that wasn’t Donut I saw naked recreating a scene from the sound of music?”

“...alright that’s fair.”

“Why was he--?”

“Jesus Christ, I don’t know,” Grif interrupted. “Why does Donut do anything? We’re not really…”

“Friends?” Wash supplied.

That felt… wrong.

“Close,” Grif corrected. “Donut’s just--we don’t really have anything in common.”

Was Donut really his friend though? What had Donut ever done for him except fuck him over. Like the nice stalemate in Blood Gulch. If he hadn’t gotten Blue’s flag then Texas never would have showed up and maybe a bunch of bullshit would have been avoided like half his organs being replaced. Yeah, they knew more shit, but really what had changed except more bullshit situations where they almost die? And then he burns down their AWESOME bases. BOTH of them.

But it was good now. No more armies, no more wars. They had a cool Water Park and they were... just… here. They were here.

“So, why are you here?” Grif asked.

“To look after you guys.”

And there it was. That hint of a real smile that was reserved for Blue Team only.

It sounded like total bullshit.

But the sincerity made him shut up.

What a thing to say.

-

 “You’re hanging out with Tucker again?” Simmons asked.

“Things have picked up since we made mega base” --Fuck Donut. HOW DO YOU BURN DOWN A WATER PARK?-- “Caboose stopped hitting Tucker with his drumsticks. I think I even have Tucker half sold on Five Finger Red Punch.”

Simmons laughed, “That’s good. Have you thought about The Talking Reds?”

“Yeah, that’s not really our sound,” Grif shifted from one foot to the other. “You needed something?”

“Oh… no, if you’re busy,” Simmons hesitated.

“Yep…” Grif waited to see if Simmons would keep going, but he didn’t.

“Mi ne rimarkis vin, kaj Tucker estis tiom bonaj amikoj.” Simmons muttered just as Grif turned to go.

“Yeah, I don’t speak Esperanto, which isn’t Spanish by the way,” Grif wasn’t going to turn around. If Simmons wanted to talk, he could talk, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to, so…

“I know that! Never mind. It’s fine,” Simmons’ voice dropped. His footsteps rustled the grass. He was walking away. Fine.

That’s fine.

-

“Come oooon we need a lead singer!” Grif paused in front of the band ‘room’ which was made out of a now destroyed swimming pool and some slide pieces. The acoustics were pretty great actually.

“I’m not musical.” Wash’s voice echoed in reply to Tucker.

Grif eavesdropped.

“Aw come on. Music doesn’t matter!”

“In a band?” Wash replied dryly.

“Dude, it’s all about swagger. You know. Being hot!”

“Uh huh…”

“All you have to do in a band is look good, and chicks dig it.”

“Ohhhh I should have known,” Wash snorted. “And what chicks are you going to pick up on our moon?”

“We go on the road.”

“Uhuh.”

“Listen, we’re bonafide--”

“Bow chicka bow wow?”

Grif froze.

“DUDE! Don’t steal my thing. I hate it when people do that.”

“Okay, fine. So, we go on the road?”

“We’re space heroes, who isn't going to want to showcase our awesome band?”

“Anyone that’s heard you?”

“Come on Blue-182 is getting good, and like I said, it doesn’t matter. If you really can’t sing you can do tamborine or something--no wait--do you think Carolina would do the tambourine?”  
  
“I think she could probably kill you with a tambourine.”

“Fuck, you’re probably right.”

Grif entered. “Right about what?” he asked blandly. Wash and Tucker were grinning at each other.

“Wash is going to join the band,” Tucker said smugly.

“No, Wash isn’t.” Washington corrected. “Music’s not my thing… or… picking up women by pretending to be good at music.”

“Aw come on man, we’re awesome.”

“Awesome!” Caboose came in tapping his drumsticks.

“I’ll leave you guys to it, should I bring you lemonade and cookies?” Wash asked sarcastically.

“Dude,” Tucker crossed his arms.

“Yes please!” Caboose interrupted before Tucker could fully retort.

“Yeah man, put in vodka,” Grif added smirking.

“Oh wow, I’m not your mother,” Wash left rolling his eyes.

“You asked!” Tucker shouted after him.

But he did bring up (virgin) lemonade and jellybean cookies. Where Wash’s stash was Grif had STILL yet to uncover.

“Thanks Mom!” Grif and Tucker chorused.

“Agent Mom,” Caboose corrected.

“Who’s Agent Mom--you never make me lemonade.” Carolina poked her head in.

“It’s just for the band, Boss,” Wash smirked. “And you’re not in the band.”

“Well I could be in the band. I heard you boys were looking for a singer.”

“Uh, yeah! Chick singers are awesome!” Tucker grinned.

“Can you sing through?” Grif asked carefully.

“Pfft, can I sing?”

She… well… she could hold a tune? Mostly? It didn’t help that Wash applauded at the end.

“So I’m in right?”

She was started to get the not giving a fuck thing.

Despite how… awful band practice was that day, it sorta made him realize how...

Blue team was pretty… stable.

He always thought of them as dramatic clusterfucks, but they all really… * _liked*_ each other. They liked spending time together.

Red Team joked about how fucking messed up the Blues were but… he missed having something like that.

And he knew… Sarge, Donut, Lopez, he could take or leave, they caused him nothing but trouble, but…

Fuck. Maybe he was being stubborn.

-

“It could be like the Flintstones,” Grif pressed.   
  
“We’re not eating the dinosaurs,” Washington crossed his arms. His voice was low and dangerous.

“Why not?”

He already had his Feed the Chef apron on. They had a working barbeque. This solved a bunch of problems!

Namely how hungry he was.

“We’re not doing it.”

“Okay, one, you’re not the boss of me--”

“Sarge agrees with me.”

“He’s not the boss of me either! Not anymore! I thought Captain resources would be on board with my genius food ration alternative since we’re not getting another food drop for the next three months and SOMEONE burnt down our bases and waterpark!”

“No.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Listen!” Washington sighed. Grif crossed his arms mirroring Washington.

“Caboose was their friend.”

Grif scowled. “Caboose made friends with the dishwasher because it says Hello when it’s turned on.”

“We’re not eating them.”

“Can’t we just be… past Church?”

“We’re talking about the dinosaurs.”

“Are we? Because I get it. Caboose is a good guy, you don’t want to break his heart because he keeps having his heart broken, but sheltering him means you’re going to get a storm later.”

“We’re talking about the dinosaurs, Grif.”

“Epsilon wasn’t even the original Church, right? Church has been dead for years--”

“Stop talking. Turn around.”

“The Dinosaurs, the scary robots, the gun, it’s all to replace Church who was a complete DICK to him anyway! I don’t get it! Why do you people miss him? He was nothing but crappy to all of you! You didn’t know him back in Blood Gulch either. He wasn’t nice. He definitely wasn’t nice to Caboose. Why do we have to keep pretending? Why do we have to--”

“Why don’t you talk to Simmons about it?”

Grif stopped cold.

“Fuck you, Washington.”

The dinosaurs were left to rot.

-

“Oh come on, you even have a beard now!”

“It’s not my thing,” Washington repeated.

Caboose helped make the TV room… and after getting out of the pocket dimension or wherever the fuck it was he ended up (Grif was sort of half convinced he had just been in a crawlspace) it was… basically good to go. Mostly it was slabs of aluminum and tarps with one sheltered wall. This was the last surviving TV and if Donut burnt this one to a crisp he could not be held responsible for his actions. Washington had created a pile of pillows and Grif had salvaged the yellow bean bag from the daycare. That had been how Grif had called a truce. He wasn’t about to miss TV because Wash was being a dickhead.

“How is Game of Thrones not your thing? I mean, wasn’t your life Game of Thrones with that leaderboard shit or whatever?”

“That might be why Game of Thrones is not my thing. Why do you want to watch Game of Thrones?”

It was… it was supposed to be a harmless joke.

Sarge was getting more antsy by the day about the unknown enemy and threatened to shoot them both if they didn’t take wall duty, and after his blow up with Washington he--

He wanted it to be normal again. Shit. He just wanted one good thing.

So he didn’t argue. It was a good opportunity. It was like old times.

Just the two of them, on the wall. Standing side by side. Talking bullshit. Not talking about… other things.

But it still didn’t feel quite right. It wasn’t like before. Simmons stood just a few inches further away. Grif found words harder to force out.

It had to be something neutral, it had to be interesting, it had to be amazing, impressive.

And when he couldn’t stand the long uncomfortable silence anymore, a lie would do.

“You know Game of Thrones was a real thing, right?”

Washington was staring at him.

“Listen man, it’s a good show. Good characters. Good acting. Good storyline...” Which damn it he couldn’t remember very well. There was too many moving pieces, and Simmons talking to him a mile a minute about how he’d love to figure out historical inaccuracies both made him feel so much better and so much worse.

“How hard do you think it would be to learn Esperanto?” Grif asked when Washington’s look remained blank.

“Ah,” Washington clued in. “This is about Simmons.”

“I--may have stretched the truth about something.”

“You should… talk to him about it then.” This time it wasn’t a barb. It wasn’t an attack. It was tentative, almost apologetic, and Grif brushed it off.

“That’s what got me in trouble in the first place,” Grif huffed. “No, I just need to research. I can make this work.”

The level of Wash’s discomfort was palatable. He kept clicking the buttons on the remote nervously. The guy wasn’t what you would call smooth, but it was hard to believe a battle hardened badass like him could seem so out of his element.

“You should talk to him,” Washington said very slowly, “About the closet.”

“No.”

“Grif, look, I know--”

“You don’t. You have no fucking clue. So drop it.”

Washington straightened. He stopped fidgeting and focused on Grif. Awkwardness the Freelancer could barely deal with, aggression though, was a language he was fluent in.

“If you never talk to him--”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve known him for _years_. And it doesn’t matter.”

Maybe it was all adrenaline. Adrenaline and boredom. Passing time by talking about stupid shit. Being terrified you’re about to die and holding on. Maybe they weren’t special to one another. Maybe it hadn’t been Sam and Diane. Maybe it hadn’t even been Grif and Simmons. Maybe it was just Grif. The loser sitting in front of the TV and immersing himself in someone else’s life. Experiencing friendships through a screen. Experiencing love through a soundtrack.

Maybe their gang of unlikely oddball heroes weren’t a gang, weren’t a family, weren’t heroes, weren’t friends.

Shit. Shit. He rubbed his eyes. Fuck.  
  
Music started playing. Familiar music.   
  
“Fine,” Wash said trying his hardest not to look at him. He tried to keep his voice casual. “We can watch Game of Thrones. You don’t have to cry about it.”   
  
“I’m not--” The comment was so bizarre and strangely out of character it jerked Grif out of his spiral. “I’m not crying, asshole!”   
  
“I get it, you like it. It’s fine,” Wash relaxed slightly. “Dragons… winter...uh...thrones?”

“Have you ever even tried watching it?” Grif sniffed and he didn’t feel shaky anymore.

“No. I barely know what it’s about.”

“So… you don’t know what happens?!”

“Uh, no.”

“Ah, you sweet summer child."

“What did you just call me?”

“Shut up and watch the goddamn show.”

Washington is… a good guy. He’s a shitty paranoid angry violent asshole, but he…

_“To look after you guys.”_

-

It built up and built up and built up and built up.

And it was the same bullshit.

They were the same people doing the same shit. It wasn’t retirement, it was Blood Gulch 2.0. Maybe they weren’t actively trying to kill each other this time, but here they were again. Exhausted, bored, hungry, stupid fucking bullshit that didn’t matter and never mattered.

Donut had bumped into the last TV. Smashed it to pieces. Only a cheerful “Whoopsie.” as an apology.

Washington sighed tiredly. Grif had to go somewhere private to scream.

He was in hell.

“You’re not sneaking off tonight?”

“Sneaking off?” Grif asked. He was sitting on one of the partially scorched couches they had dragged to the red side of megabase. It was late. Perfect twinkie time. Too bad there were no twinkies left on this shithole.

“Yeah,” Simmons said tentatively. “You always disappear around now. For months. I thought you were hanging out with Tucker or something, but he didn’t know what I was talking about when I asked him--not that I asked--”

He didn’t… know.

How long had Grif been going off to Blue Base (or whatever amounted to Blue Base)? How long had it been since him and Simmons talked...really talked?

“I’ve been hanging out with Agent Washington,” Grif said. “We watch nostalgia TV together.”

Simmons rolled his eyes and snorted. “Hah hah. Good one. I didn’t say you had to tell me or anything. I just...” Simmons rubbed his arm. “Do you ever wonder--”

“On Chorus, in the closet--” Grif said.

Simmons shriveled.

  
“We said we would never talk about that again,” He said quickly. “We were--you were--that stupid Temple--we don’t have to talk about it. It doesn’t--it didn’t--just--let’s not talk about it. I like that idea, let’s do that.”

Grif’s heart sunk. “Right.”

Everyone had been joking about them in the closet together, about what they must have got up to to make them so embarrassed. Anything from a kiss to them banging.

It wasn’t anything like that.

Simmons had been panicky about small spaces. To distract him Grif had started to argue with him. There was no better distraction than an argument that descended to name calling.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I had some room in here fatass,” Simmons grouched.

“You’re fine,” Grif rolled his eyes.

“I bet you’re disappointed.”

“Uh, why?”

“I mean, we’re big heroes, everyone is horny, we’re… we’re popular.”

“I guess…” Grif said slowly. “Wait… is that why you were hiding in here?”

“I wasn’t hiding!” Simmons squeaked. “I was--I had--I wasn’t hiding.”

Grif laughed. “You really are scared of girls. You’re going to be a virgin forever.”

“I’m n--Grif! Okay why are YOU hiding in the closet?”

He almost laughed. Hiding in the closet. He had been going to take a nap if he was honest.

And then a thought seized him. All those confessions he had seen on TV. Romantic moments in comedies. This was a moment. This was HIS moment, wasn’t it?

“Because there’s no one I want to be with out there,” He said.

That was good, that was a great line. Damn he was smooth--

“Huh?”

And Simmons didn’t get it.

“I--” The darkness, and closeness, and stuffy air, hot breath from Simmons, and this wasn’t perfect. What was he doing? “I don’t… I--”

“What, you want to be with me?” Simmons joked. “Cause I’m the only other person in here.”

The silence dragged heavily. He felt Simmons’ body stiffen as he worked things out, and maybe, just maybe he could recover and they’d laugh about this later.

“I love you,” Grif said, and meant it, and wished he could shove the words back in as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“That’s just--that’s the stupid temple talking,” Simmons’ voice was painfully high and terribly panicked and now Grif was panicking too because--

He had never had a friend before Simmons. He had never had anyone except his Sister, and his Sister had lots of other people. He had thought--he had his own… person.

Just like on TV.

“You’re just--you don’t really,” Simmons’ laugh was halting and ugly. “You and me? Can you even? We should just--yell for help. To get out. Let’s get out of the closet. I won’t say anything. Let’s just--let’s call for help. HELP! WE’RE IN HERE!” 

“Right,” Grif stammered even as Simmons shouted louder. Grif joined in and really meant it because he needed out right now.

Agreed that the stupid temple was just fucking with him.

Agreed never to speak about it again.

Except apparently that just meant not really speaking ever again.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Grif heaved a sigh. No point staying up. Might as well sleep the rest of this wretched ‘retirement’ away.   
  
“Wait... Grif, I… Mi bedaŭras. Mi faris ĝin stranga. Mi scias, ke vi ne signifis tion, kion vi diris. Mi scias, ke ĝi estas nur feromonoj, aŭ fremda teknologio, aŭ io ajn. Mi simple ne povas aŭdi vin diri, ke vi ne signifis ĝin, ĉar mi volas, ke vi signifu ĝin, ĉar mi amas vin. Mi ne scias kial aŭ kiam aŭ kiel, sed vi estas la sola persono, kiu iam ajn ... ŝatis min, kiel persono. Neniu iam volis paroli al mi, kaj vi simple ... parolu al mi, tiel facile. Mi amas vin, Grif. Mi ne volas perdi vin.” Simmons’ face was red. He looked down unhappily.

“Simmons.”

“Yeah, Grif?”

“I still don’t speak fucking Esperanto.”

Grif stood up and headed to his bedroom. Maybe he’d spike Simmons’ breakfast with methrooms in the morning. That would be something different, right?

He looked out the giant hole that was positioned next to his bed. Sarge was very keen that that was exactly where his bed would go when they had built megabase. He looked out into the darkness. A dot of soft light illuminated Washington standing out on the cliffs.  

Grif forced himself to get up again and trudged outside.

“You don’t have a tiny TV do you?” Grif asked.

“No, I’m just looking at the stars.”

“From TV stars to gas giants. Fun.”

Wash didn’t answer.

“Still waiting for space pirates or whatever?”

“Still talking?”

“That’s what Red team does,” Grif said with an ironic smile. “We talk.”

“Here.” Wash held out something. Grif couldn’t make it out in the darkness. “I found it when we were scavenging supplies in Blue Base. Carolina’s room didn’t take as much damage from the fire. These don’t expire, right?”

Well son of a bitch.

Grif took the twinkie and unwrapped it.

2AM, the perfect time for a twinkie.   


  



End file.
